Use no-break hyphen for sounds

src/epub/content.opf

@@ -63,7 +63,7 @@
 		<dc:language>en-US</dc:language>
 		<dc:source>https://www.fadedpage.com/showbook.php?pid=20220711</dc:source>
 		<dc:source>https://archive.org/details/tombstoneiliadof00burn</dc:source>
-		<meta property="se:word-count">110920</meta>
+		<meta property="se:word-count">110922</meta>
 		<meta property="se:reading-ease.flesch">72.26</meta>
 		<meta property="se:url.vcs.github">https://github.com/standardebooks/walter-noble-burns_tombstone</meta>
 		<dc:creator id="author">Walter Noble Burns</dc:creator>

src/epub/text/chapter-5.xhtml

@@ -32,7 +32,7 @@
 			<p>“I’ve knowed old Dick ever sence he worked for the Diamond A over in the Animas,” remarked Curly Bill when Lloyd had gone back to the bar, “and a better hand never punched cows.”</p>
 			<p>After Dick had had a few more drinks with E. Mann, the two men walked to the front door. There the cowboy, with no apparent reason, pulled his six-shooter and hauled up and threw down, as they say, on the genial E. Mann. The bullet creased the saloon-keeper’s neck as he dodged behind the bar, leaving a scar that became a lifelong mystery, E. Mann being too drunk ever to remember why he was shot, and Dick Lloyd being past the point of explanations. This was the beginning of the affair.</p>
 			<p>Reeling across the street, Dick climbed on his pinto pony. Drawing his Winchester from its saddle scabbard and sticking the muzzle high over his head, he fired a shot by way of advertising the show, securing Fort Thomas’s instant and undivided attention.</p>
-			<p>“<i>Whee-e-e-e-e!</i>”</p>
+			<p>“<i>Whee‑e‑e‑e‑e!</i>”</p>
 			<p>Raising a war whoop, he went charging through the street, shooting up the town with fine abandon, his devastating course marked by crashing windows and splintered store fronts and citizens running madly for cover. When he chanced to spy the fine-looking horses of the Curly Bill outfit hitched in a corral, he abandoned his sorry pinto and mounted a rangy bay. This animal belonged to Joe Hill, now sitting in the poker game in E. Mann’s saloon, as dangerous an hombre as rode with Curly Bill, and incidentally the black sheep of one of the best-known families in Arizona, Joe Hill not being his name.</p>
 			<p>Mounted now in style, Dick came curving out of the corral on the dead run and again went careering up and down the street, yelling and pumping lead at everything in view. But all the citizens having ducked out of sight, Dick, as an actor giving a high-class performance, felt the loss of his audience. Tearing up and down an empty street with nobody to shoot at wasn’t much fun. A brilliant inspiration flashed upon him. He would ride into the bar and break up the poker game. That would be a great joke on Curly Bill. His stupid drunken face twitched in a gargoyle grin as he drew rein in front of the saloon. Guiding his stumbling horse up on the board sidewalk, he bent low in the saddle as he rode through the door.</p>
 			<p>For an instant there was profound silence. Then the saloon seemed to explode with a roar of six-shooters. Out of the door the horse lunged, snorting and wild-eyed, saddle empty, pommel shot away. Blue smoke drifted out into the street. The old cowboy’s joke had been a riot. Laughing with huge enjoyment, Curly Bill and the rustlers settled back to their card game. The humorist lay sprawled in the middle of the floor, shot all to pieces.</p>